Asylum
by Mark of the Asphodel
Summary: Their mother had loved it.  The War of Darkness had not taken it from them.  Could Elice and Marth find a measure of peace there, far from the pressures of the Altean court?  A story of mothers and children... and that elusive thing some call closure.
1. Chapter 1

**Asylum**

I do not own _Fire Emblem_ or any of its characters.

This takes place in between the War of Darkness and the War of Heroes- in other words, between FE11 and FE12.

There aren't any real spoilers, there are no pairings, and there's nothing overt to warn for. It's all in the gaps, so to speak.

* * *

**Chapter One**

"There it is! Can you see it?" Elice felt for a moment like a child once more as she caught a glimpse of gilded spires above a line of trees.

"Yes," said her brother, distraction evident from his tone as he struggled to keep his horse in line.

It must have seemed a nice idea to present Altea's prince and princess with a pair of matched mounts for this journey, but Marth always took a while to bond with horses, and the grey stallion had proved a handful. Elice, seated on a spirited but manageable mare, cast a sidelong glance at her brother. Marth had acquired an arsenal of improper words in recent years, and he was using a number of them under his breath- directed at the stallion, at its dam and sire, at the men who bred it, broke it, and shod it. He shouldn't have been saying those words, even quietly, and Elice shouldn't have found the sight so amusing, but she did; her laughter flew up to the summer sky and drowned out the sound of her brother's curses.

It was the sight of Chalfont House that made her so lighthearted, Elice decided as she bit her cheek to get control of herself again. Seventeen of her past twenty summers had been spent there, far from the high walls and high ceremony of Altea Castle.

Built of pale brick rather than ancient stone, it had been designed for the pleasure of their mother Queen Liza, and the building itself seemed to embody some of Liza's spirit, a place of air and sunlight. The front facade looked golden beneath the afternoon sun and the many, many windows sparkled like the waters of the fountain pool at the entrance. The royal standard of Altea flew from the highest cupola, a splash of green and white against the red tiles of the roof.

The castle was the seat of their father's power, but Chalfont was the refuge created by their mother's love. It might not be the same without her, but something of Liza might be in the breeze that carried the flag aloft, welcoming her children home.

-x-

Upon their arrival, Elice followed the palace steward on a tour of the house and grounds, opening the cabinets and peering in the closets just as her mother had done at the beginning of every stay. Necessity aside, it gave her a sense of peace to do so while she listed to the aging steward give his report of the status of the palace in his care. Augustus was little changed from the time she'd last seen him- his hair was a little more white, perhaps, but he seemed hale enough for a man approaching sixty.

"It gives me great relief to see how well you have managed these years past, Augustus."

Chalfont seemed to have been under some spell of preservation, as in fairy-stories. To walk on its unstained carpets and peer out its intact windows, to look again upon familiar wall-hangings and portraits, brought relief indeed to Elice. She had not expected anything so happy to meet her eyes.

"The chapel's still under construction, Your Highness. It didn't fare well in the troubles. But the rest of the house should be just as you remember it."

"It is fine, Augustus. You've all taken such care with this place..."

He smiled at her, just as he'd done when she was a little girl and she'd thanked him too much for doing what was merely his duty. Elice took note of the smile and decided to restrain herself; she'd been on the verge of grasping the old man's hand in gratitude.

Bella, the head cook, had also survived the "troubles," and she took the lead in escorting Elice through a tour of the gardens.

"And you can see, Princess, that all the trees your blessed mother planted survived, but one. Some young brute climbed the pink magnolia and cracked it in two, and there was no way of saving it."

Elice had loved that tree, had cherished the fragrance of its pale blossoms- so beautiful, so fragile that they bruised at a touch. But its loss was such a small thing compared to the survival of so much else. Around her now she saw the gnarled gingko whose leaves turned to gold in the autumn, the willow with unique curled leaves, the dwarf pomegranates that bore white-edged blossoms. When she saw the citrus that had been created for her mother, the one artfully grafted so that four kinds of fruit grew on a single tree, she had to quickly blink away tears.

Bella and Augustus both waited on her command.

"Princess, we've put lavender and balm in the rushes, just as you asked," Bella offered.

"Thank you," said Elice, having recovered her poise. "And I trust you've stocked up on linden flowers and wood betony?"

"Aye, and tincture of fresh oat, though it wasn't easy to come by." Bella's voice carried no hint of inquiry, but she scrutinized Elice with sharp dark eyes.

"Are there any more special instructions, Princess?"

"Not at present, Augustus. If something comes to mind, I will tell you at once."

-x-

Elice seated herself by her favorite window in the second-floor parlor, the one with a grand view of the crescent-shaped bay formed by the waters of the North Channel. The window itself didn't let in direct sunlight, but Elice liked the sensation of having the sea at her back. Chalfont was set too far inland to hear the waves upon the shore, but the shimmer of the blue-green water added greatly to the serenity of the little summer palace. She immersed herself in reading for the evening, to the point that Elice jumped a little in her seat when the double doors swung open. It was only her brother; no one else would enter without being either summoned or announced.

"Did you enjoy the bath?"

"I did. To the point where I nearly fell asleep in it." Marth brushed a lock of damp hair out of his eyes. It wanted trimming again in front, and Elice added that to her mental list of "special instructions" as she closed her book and set it down upon her lap with her hands clasped over it.

"You used to love to splash about in the water. Sometimes Mother would have to call a footman in to lift you out."

"I think I recall someone turning the water to ice once just to prove she'd learned a spell that was supposed to be beyond her," Marth replied, though the smile he showed her was faint, just a small upturn to the corners of his mouth.

"Ah, you did promise you'd never tell on me."

"I haven't. There's no one left to tell that might do anything about it." He sat opposite her, on the edge of a chair rather than properly settled back in it- another of the habits he'd acquired during their separation. "There's only the two of us."

"Yes, just the two of us." Elice's hands tightened upon the cover of the closed book. She watched her brother for several minutes as he stared out the window into the dark.

"We shouldn't be here," he said at last.

"The castle is not fit to inhabit." Restoration and reconstruction of the damages sustained during what Augustus termed "the troubles" had only begun once victory in Dolhr had been secured, and everything from the cellars to the towers needed a thorough cleansing.

"Half our people have homes not fit to inhabit, and they've nowhere to go while someone else cleans up the mess."

He'd made the argument before, when Elice first proposed spending some weeks at Chalfont; the very fact that they were sitting in that second-floor parlor spoke of the merits of that line of debate.

"Marth, did you see the looks upon the faces of our people _here_ as we entered? Our subjects- _your_ subjects- have been standing guard over this house for three long years, waiting for the day when you would come back to it. To deny them the fulfillment of their desire is to deny the value of their service."

Marth remained silent for a time; he gripped the sides of the chair in a pose that radiated discomfort. Then he bowed his head and the heavy strands of his bangs fell forward so that Elice could no longer see his eyes.

"You are right, sister," he said. "I am sorry for... for appearing not to value the service of people who have cared for us all our lives. I know there is more to service than just being willing to... to fight. It is just so very hard to balance everything at once."

Elice slid the book off her lap; she rose and crossed to where her brother sat, then placed her hand upon his shoulder. The tension through his body was so great that Marth's arm and shoulder felt like solid wood, or even stone, beneath her fingers.

"It's all right. We've had a long day of traveling and ought to rest. I'll ask Bella to send up some tea for us, yes?"

"Mm."

Under ordinary circumstances, she would have corrected him- sit up straight, don't pick at the wood of the chair, remember that you are to be Altea's king. But the day of coronation was a long way off for a boy not yet eighteen, and the rules were always a little relaxed at Chalfont House. Their mother had wanted it that way. Instead, Elice applied a gentle pressure to her brother's shoulder until he released his fierce grip upon the frame of the chair.

"Linden-flower tea, Princess?" Bella's daughter, the second of three, had come up with the tray.

"Set it there on the table, Constance."

The girl obeyed and retreated soundlessly into the shadows, leaving sister and brother alone. Eddies of steam from the tea cups rose into the air, like tiny ghosts.

**End Chapter One**


	2. Chapter 2

**Asylum**

I do not own _Fire Emblem_ or any of its characters.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Elice felt disoriented for several minutes upon waking. Normally she traveled well, but that first morning back in Chalfont House, she felt confused, was uncertain as to what the date or even the year was, and if anyone expected her someplace that morning. She remained abed for some minutes, staring out the window at the distorted shapes of spires on the other side of the courtyard. Verity, Bella's eldest daughter, answered her unvoiced questions by announcing that it was seven o'clock and did the lady Elice want to rise yet?

"Yes, I think I shall. See to it that my... that the prince is awakened as well."

"He's already up, Princess. Was out before dawn, practicing with his sword."

"Then have him summoned for breakfast."

Five hours of sleep, thought Elice as she considered the length of a summer night. Or less. No, that was _not_ how things were going to be within the walls of Chalfont House. She added yet another "special instruction" to the growing list; she would have a talk with Bella after breakfast.

"Vandals _have_ been here," Marth said as he took his place at the table. "There are no locks on the doors."

"Is that so necessary?" Elice did not look up as she spread some clotted cream upon a piece of sugared bread. "This house is well-guarded."

"It doesn't feel right," Marth muttered.

"I'll talk to Augustus about it," Elice said, very deliberately not making any promises. Marth did not pursue the subject, and Elice instead kept the conversation revolving around activities he might enjoy that day- going out with a falcon, taking a swim at the seaside, borrowing a less temperamental horse and taking a ride around the estates.

"You make it sound like a holiday," Marth commented, without any real measure of enthusiasm. "What will _you_ be doing today?"

"Bella wants to take me on an in-depth tour of the kitchen and its gardens. There are a number of improvements she would like to make, and I believe she wants to sell me on them as soon as possible."

"All that is necessary work. You're not going out amusing yourself, so why do you expect me to do so?"

Elice was quiet for a time. She watched the way her brother ate- too quickly, so that he couldn't possibly be savoring any of the products of Bella's kitchens.

"When you were very small, you used to enjoy going out and helping the stable boys feed the chickens and the geese," she said. "Why don't you spend the day outdoors, getting to know them all again?"

"Get to know the stable boys, or the chickens?" he said, eyebrows raised at her suggestion. "All right. You go down into the kitchens, I go out to the barns. I suppose that's fair."

-x-

Elice managed to satisfy Bella on most of the cook's key points of contention during the course of the day's tour. It seemed to Elice that Bella in her gratitude had produced a dinner with special added flourishes that evening, which made it more unfortunate that Marth paid his food so little attention.

"That was walking around this morning," he said only as he poked at the chicken meat protruding from a golden pastry shell. "It had white wings and a brown back and breast. Not a pretty bird in the least."

At least it seemed that he'd had a pleasant day "down at the barn."

"I think they were rather surprised that I knew the difference between a hen and a rooster. One of them said something to the effect of, 'And here I thought Your Highness wouldn't have seen anything less glorious than a peacock.'" He frowned, then pushed aside his dessert, little cream cheeses infused with geranium essence and topped with blackberry compote. "They do know I wasn't living in some glass box the last few years... don't they?"

"I'm sure they do," Elice replied. "The boy was probably joking with you."

"I suppose." Marth didn't sound particularly assured.

After dinner, Elice insisted that they spend a while talking in the parlor, reminiscing about their very earliest memories of Chalfont House. Elice's memories of course went back several summers further than did Marth's, but he did recall falling into the fountain at the age of three.

"Bella made me a plate of gingerbread afterward," he said. "So all in all, I didn't mind it that much."

"If only all of our accidents could be rewarded with a plate of sweets," Elice said. She meant it as something light, but Marth didn't return her smile. After a pause that seemed to her uncomfortable, Elice added, "Do you know why the baths here are so elaborate?"

"No."

"After I was born, Mother had some trouble conceiving a second time. It was thought that bathing in cool water would be helpful, and so the baths were built. When you were born, everyone here at Chalfont felt that they could claim some credit for it. That's why Augustus and Bella and all the rest of the staff care for you so much."

"Oh. No, I had never heard that." Marth gave her a glance from the corner of his eye, as though daring her to confess the whole thing a jest of some kind. "I always thought you were the house favorite."

"No. Also, as soon as you were born, Mother insisted on adding a hot-water bath so she'd never have to bathe in cold water again."

Marth smiled at that, a genuine smile that reached up to his eyes.

"Mother had a good sense of humor about life. I miss that. I don't feel it very much. I try to, but I don't."

And the smile slipped away as water drains out of a basin.

-x-

The doorknob turned in her hand without a sound. Elice pushed open the door to her brother's room and stepped inside. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making any noise of dismay.

Her brother managed to look uncomfortable even in sleep. He lay on his side, one hand clutching the knotted covers, the other tucked awkwardly beneath the pillow. It was a good way to cut off blood flow to the fingers, Elice thought. Still, she could see from the flickering movements of his closed eyes that Marth was at least sleeping, probably dreaming.

Linden-flowers, even brewed at double strength, could only do so much.

"Place him in a more comfortable position," she said to the night footman. He touched his fingers to his brow in silent acknowledgement of her command.

**End Chapter Two**

**

* * *

**Author's Note: No, it's not a simple, pleasant seaside holiday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Asylum**

I do not own _Fire Emblem_ or any of its characters.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

It would have been easy to lose oneself in the rhythm of the sea, in the turquoise crests lapping at the pale shore. Or to fall asleep in the sun-dappled grass beneath the holly-oak trees. The golden light, the sweet marine breeze, seemed to reach out with gentle hands, asking one to simply be still for a while. Sometimes Elice would catch herself, realizing that she'd spent long minutes gazing at the morning mist that wreathed the cupola spires, or at the tops of long grasses waving in the distance.

Chalfont cast a spell of peace, and asked only that one surrender to it. Elice understood that she could not fall under that spell, not completely. She did not understand why her brother put so much effort into resisting its call.

-x-

Elice remembered well the moment of clarity. During her twelfth summer at Chalfont, she realized that the apparent freedom she and her brother enjoyed there was, in truth, a carefully orchestrated regimen, in its own way as rigid as the schedules their tutors laid out in Altea Castle. Each game of bowls upon the lawn, each round of music in the evening, was planned and duly executed, and only their mother's light touch, her ability to persuade them that a particular activity was what Elice and Marth _truly_ wanted to do, kept them from noticing it.

Elice played along for the remainder of the summer, pretending to embrace the seeming spontaneity of Chalfont life, even as she had, for Marth's sake, feigned wonder over the gilded eggs and baskets of sweets that appeared "by magic" in the gardens. It was the burden of the elder child to know that the invisible hands of servants placed those treasures in their hiding spots at a parent's command; it was the lot of the elder child to serve at once as the parent's dupe and the co-conspirator, all to preserve for a few precious years more the innocence of the younger.

-x-

She pushed the hours around in the day, arranging them as blocks in a puzzle. The rhythm of life at Chalfont House should be as regular as the ebb and flow of the tides in the North Channel- the days should bring variety, yes, but not surprises. They all had experienced enough of living without expectations. Elice knew all too well that the worst sort of life was not, as so many believed, a drudgery of boredom. What ground one down as grain in a mill was a life in which nothing was certain, a life that kept one's nerves continually rubbed until, like the fibers in a worn-out rope, they gave way.

There was no need for any of that now. Meals arrived at a set time. Games and other activities became a established part of life, as in Queen Liza's day. Messengers from the castle and elsewhere were not allowed to spring themselves upon Prince Marth on the pretext of urgency; they were detained and the messages screened, and those who did _not_ carry truly urgent news were permitted an audience only at the proper time for it.

Not that any of this came easily to Elice. The _work_ of managing an estate the size of Chalfont took up so much of her attention that Elice marveled anew over how effortless her mother had made the job appear. Elice, with her gift for rare magic, had been raised to be a scholar, not the chatelaine of a grand house. She had no ingrained ability to carry out these tasks; to fill her mother's role required constant reference to old memories, some of them fading and some of them bereft of proper context. Elice found herself taking cues from her servants, reading in the set of Augustus's brows, in the width of Bella's eyes, whether she'd done right.

"You keep telling me not to overexert myself, but you look exhausted," her brother complained as she chivvied him off to the baths after a set of tennis one immoderately warm afternoon.

This sort of roundabout protest had become common enough from Marth, for Elice did not offer the day's schedule to him as any kind of option, any more than the stay at Chalfont itself had been presented as a choice, or even as a ruse- "Let's go there just for a few days, to see how everything is." And Marth, confronted with the situation, complied without complying, saying "Yes, Elice," in a most equable manner while every bone and muscle conveyed silent, stubborn resistance.

Elice, perspiration trickling down from her hairline, decided she could give herself a few moments _to_ herself. She retired to her favorite seat in the parlor, with the sea at her back, and spent some time reading up on the latest scholarly monographs.

"None of these papers agree on whether hot water or cold water is more efficacious," she said to herself as she compared two recent works on hydropathy. "I'd think it would make a considerable difference!"

She would have liked a long, cool bath herself right then, in truth.

At that moment, one of the pages announced that the palace steward wanted a word with the princess. Elice tucked her reading material away beneath the covers of a more forbidding book and bade the page to permit Augustus to enter. The old man did not seem to be in any sort of hurry, and they talked about minor details of the grounds for a few minutes. Augustus paused, though, in the middle of a sentence, and the lines around his faded green eyes seemed to deepen.

"You haven't changed, Princess."

Elice said nothing; she knew there was more coming.

"You've your father's eyes," the aged steward continued. "There was always something of the king in your face, even when you were a little girl, but now it's plain as the daylight."

It was not precisely a compliment... and it was quite true. More than once Elice had, as a girl, run her hands across her cheekbones, knowing they'd come from her broad-shouldered father rather than her graceful mother. Marth, through some quirk of inheritance, had been the one to receive their mother's eyes, the exact shade of their mother's hair.

"Your brother the prince, though... he's changed."

"He was but a child when the castle fell and we lost our parents," she replied, using strikingly inadequate words to describe two acts of brutal murder. _ The troubles. Lost our parents. We lost our parents in the troubles._

_He was but a child when we were betrayed. A child when I deceived him._

Across from her, Augustus acknowledged her statement with a silent bow of his white head.

-x-

Servants knew that infant princesses and princes threw tantrums, spit up their milk, kicked over the chamber-pot, and committed all manner of acts that suited their age, if not their station. The relationship between the lady of the house and her servants was not like that of a bishop and the clerics beneath her, or that of a lord and the knights who served him. The chasm between Elice's place in society and that of Bella and her daughters did not mean that the women were too dazzled by the diadem to see Elice as a person; rather, the simple fact that they were ever in contact meant that the servants did not see royalty through a veil of romance or mystery. Unspoken rules and mutually understood constraints guided every interaction, and both mistress and servant accepted it in the way both the actors and the audience at a theater agreed to suspend disbelief for a few hours, to accept a paper costume as a "fire-breathing dragon."

Hence the expressed surprise of the stable-hands that Marth knew anything at all about the mundane life of chickens. Hence the crease between Bella's brows when Elice asked if the kitchen shelves might hold any valerian root. Hence the heavy silence Augustus maintained before Elice sent him back to his duties.

She had a fierce and somewhat irrational urge to check on her brother, and after a few failed attempts to continue her reading, Elice gave in to it. She crossed the courtyard with hurried steps, heedless of the oppressive heat, until she reached the baths. The steam inside the marble walls seemed to take the air from her lungs as she breathed it in; standing there, she felt about to wilt, as a cut flower left in the sun. But that, of course, was the intent...

Her brother had fallen asleep in the warm water scented with lavender salts, his head propped upon the shell-shaped marble edge of the bath. Even in an atmosphere designed to enervate, it seemed to Elice that he was not truly at ease. She was reminded of the stories of dolphins, who were said to only sleep with one eye at a time, the other ever open to danger.

"Wake him in five minutes," she said to the attendants watching over her brother. "Then let him rest for an hour before he returns to the house. Is there any lemon-water?"

"Yes, princess."

"Make sure he drinks at least two glasses of it... and take the remainder for yourself."

Her robes were drenched by the time she returned to her apartments in the house. Elice called for Verity so that she could change her clothing. When she'd refreshed herself, Elice checked the time. She had half an hour and more before she might expect her brother's arrival.

Marth's door still had no lock upon it. Elice entered without any pretense or subterfuge. The furnishings were sparse, even impersonal; it had the unmistakable look of a room where one is merely "staying," not residing, and it was only partly the fault of the servants who dusted off their prince's boots and made up his bed with precision. At least Marth kept a scattering of trinkets on the top of his dresser- just a handful of small things that might easily be carried in one's pocket. Elice ignored them as she searched the room, opening each drawer and peering under the bed. She was looking for things she didn't know about, so it was only at the end that she turned her attention to the thing she _did_ know about. At last, she lifted one of the pillows, the one that Marth actually used when he slept. A few small tufts of down floated away as she prodded the pillow.

As she expected, a switchblade knife was concealed within it.

**End Chapter Three**


	4. Chapter 4

**Asylum**

I do not own _Fire Emblem_ or any of its characters.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

"Elice?"

"Yes, Marth?"

"The fairies that Mother told us about, the ones that put sugar eggs in the garden... they're just a story, aren't they?"

"Yes. It's only old Augustus and his sons, trying to make us happy."

Marth was silent for a time, and Elice thought that her brother had fallen asleep. But just as she was getting drowsy herself, she heard his small voice come from the other side of the nursery.

"Are the gods just a story, too?"

She rolled over onto her side to face her brother, who was clutching the edge of his blanket with both hands.

"No! Of course the gods are real, Marth. They're around us always- they're with me when I'm using my magic, they're with Father whenever he uses the Falchion."

"I can't do magic at all. Maybe they don't... like me?"

At that, Elice was out of bed, not even bothering to put on her slippers as she hurried to her brother to put her arms around him.

"The gods haven't rejected you just because you can't use their magic. They're with you now, and will be there for the whole of your life. You mustn't lose faith over a handful of sweets, Marth."

"All right," he said after a pause, his voice a little muffled as he wriggled in her embrace. "I promise not to worry about it again, Elice."

-x-

The canvas was slightly damaged at the bottom edge, but Elice was confident that a new frame would hide the marred surface of the painting. Otherwise, it was beautifully preserved- a charming pastoral in a style that, to Elice, captured the mood of her father's reign before the shadows of war fell upon Altea. A lovely young woman, a wreath of summer blossoms in her hair, sat with her two small children upon a garlanded swing suspended from a great oak tree. There was a sense of peace, of light, of contentment in the scene.

A royalist sympathizer had saved the painting during the fall of the kingdom, and now it was returned to its place at Chalfont... not unlike the two children from within it.

"You wouldn't remember when this was done. I believe you'd just turned two."

Elice smiled at the image of her brother- secure in his mother's arms, reaching over Liza's shoulder for the kitten that the little painted Elice held out to him.

"I think I remember the cat," Marth said with a small frown as he tried to recall it. "Priscilla? Was that her name?"

"Yes, Priscilla the cat. I think I took the name from some knightly romance. She belonged to Bella, actually. I do believe I've seen a few of her great-grandchildren out by the lavender patch on sunny days."

But Marth already had a distant look in his eye, and his movements betrayed the sense of agitation that was too familiar to Elice.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes, I suppose so," he replied. "An object was... taken... out of my room. I presume it was one of the servants, but it makes me uncomfortable."

"Was it this?" The stiletto was tucked inside of her robes. She displayed it to him now, activating its coilspring to show the enameled blade before folding it again.

"Yes."

"One of the servants reported it to me because to find such a thing in your bed upset her."

Marth had the grace to look slightly abashed.

"You don't need this anymore," Elice said, and put the stiletto away within her robe.

"Are you so certain, sister?"

"Absolutely, Marth. You must believe it."

And yet, he made her no promises.

-x-

The biweekly packet of letters arrived from Altea Castle, and Elice intercepted them, screening the content for her brother's benefit.

"My lady Princess," she murmured upon reading the address of the thickest of the pile. The letter came from Sir Cain, the knight placed in charge of Altea Castle during its reconstruction. It spoke of a team of builders- a stonemason father and two of his sons- who had been dismissed from the project for cutting corners and engaging in shoddy and potentially dangerous practices. Cain wanted to know whether the trio should be brought up on charges of treason or merely detained for a time.

The issue could not wait; Elice took up a quill and composed a response that a herald might take back to the castle immediately.

"There is no need for a public trial, though a few days in the stockades might impress upon them the gravity of their errors. Let the news of their misdeeds travel so that the damage to their reputation is a punishment in itself."

Her brother did not have to know of such petty business. Elice signed her own name to the letter, sealed it with her own device, and sent it on its way back to Sir Cain.

-x-

Augustus, with some cajoling, agreed to let his lord and lady have a look at the half-finished chapel. When Elice stepped inside, she knew at once why the steward of Chalfont had been anxious to keep them out of it. The chapel had been a place of such deep serenity, a place to lay aside one's fears and doubts. Elice remembered well the soothing pale green of the walls, close to the shade of green in the Altean flag. Only a little of that color remained on the upper walls and the curved ceiling beams. Likewise, only a fraction of stained-glass showed in the windows, for the bottom four-fifths of each pane had been smashed out.

"Fiends."

So said Marth as he took in the damage. He said nothing more, but Elice could read his anger in the way his fists were clenched at his sides, in the cords of muscle that showed suddenly at his throat. Elice never completely forgot that her younger brother was trained to kill, could take a man's life without hesitation, but in a moment like this, she was painfully aware of it.

"Marth..."

"My feelings on it cannot change anything."

And he left, that stiffly-worded, unnaturally-spoken sentence hanging in the air. Elice blinked; it took a great deal of her own self-possession to hide her dismay before the knowing eyes of Augustus.

-x-

Two days later, the tensions that surrounded her brother finally ran over. A small tragedy, the death of a child in a nearby village who fell down an old well, precipitated conflict between them, as Marth insisted that he ought to go personally to the village and attend the child's burial.

"I want to offer my condolences to her family, Elice. I don't see why this is inappropriate."

"Marth, do you ever recall Father doing such a thing?" She asked it as a gentle prod to his memory and his sense of propriety.

"Father wrote letters to every centenarian in the kingdom," he replied. Something in his manner, in his pose, betrayed that same agitation that worried Elice so.

"Yes, he_ wrote letters_. To a very small handful of subjects. What you're suggesting today is rather different, Marth."

"But Elice, we are so close-"

"And you will not be so close the next tragic accident, or the time after."

"That's a harsh thing to say, Elice. If I can do something-"

"You are the Prince of Altea. You can do something for all of your people by leading them, but you cannot lead your people from everywhere at once."

"_Elice_..." His voice sounded oddly high. High, sharp... and young. Childish.

"No, Marth. It is not the custom."

"I don't see that I'm doing anyone any good at all by being here! You say I must lead my people, but I don't _see _anyone aside from servants and well-wishers. Out there beyond the garden wall our people are still dying, and I can't do anything for them! I can't even see them. I can't... Elice, why doesn't it _stop_? Why did that girl have to fall in the well?"

It was the closest he had ever come to shouting at her in all the years that Elice remembered. She was shocked enough that she did not try to stop him from leaving the room- bound for where, she did not know.

She walked to the parlor window and stood there a while, gazing down at the curve of the sea in the distance. After a while, Elice caught sight of her brother, down by the trees, practicing his swordplay against an invisible partner. She felt more comfortable then and sat down to read her monographs.

"_Beauty as therapy in the treatment of progressive neuroses_," she murmured. "I'm not convinced."

Marth returned for dinner but was not especially talkative (save for a comment that indicated he had _not_ finished with their argument), and for once Elice did not try to influence him. He went straight to his room after the meal, while she returned to the parlor and her monographs. Elice felt strangely tired and a little rattled; she sent for Constance and called for a cup of linden-flower tea- double strength. This time, she drank it herself.

-x-

Marth ate little at breakfast the next morning; the agitation was still with him, and evident in every gesture, but the defiance seemed to have left. Elice, still uncertain as to how to approach him, did not protest when Marth excused himself from the table. She lingered over her tea and toast, feeling a distinct lack of enthusiasm over her day.

"Princess?"

"Yes, Augustus?" It was not like the steward to interrupt her breakfast over a trifle.

"There was a disturbance in the night with your brother the prince."

Elice set down the jam-pot.

"What do you mean, Augustus?"

"Near to two in the morning, one of my boys saw His Highness in the hallway, heading for the rear stairs. Young Seb bowed to His Highness and was surprised not to get a response, as your brother the prince isn't one to ignore his people entirely. Seb had the presence of mind to follow His Highness and caught him before he reached the stair. He was walking fast asleep, with his eyes open. Talked a fair bit before we put him back to bed- perfectly pleasant and not at all sensible."

"Augustus..." Her mouth had gone rather dry, and her voice came out with a strange high pitch. "You recall that my brother used to have these... disturbances... the first few nights whenever we moved to a new residence."

Augustus said nothing; Elice could voice her own rebuttals easily. They had not newly arrived at Chalfont after a few days' hard travel, and her brother was not a child too young for long trousers.

"I thought he'd outgrown it." She sounded fairly childlike herself then.

"Your Highness was sleeping soundly and we judged we shouldn't wake you, as everything was well in order. We put the door and windows under guard the rest of the night."

Elice mulled over this dilemma well after she'd dismissed the steward. Somnambulism was viewed, fairly or not, as a curse. Sleep-walkers were said to act under the agency of malign spirits, were credited with murders no waking mind might devise. In some remote villages- even in her father's reign- somnambulists had been stoned to death and left under the heap of stones to keep them from ever rising.

"This will not do," she said. "It can never happen again."

-x-

Bella had shown that crease between her brows when she mixed up the infusion of skullcap, gold poppy, and valerian root.

"Sleeping under this doesn't do a body good in the long run," she said as she strained the liquid into a small pitcher. "Healers may swear by it, but _I_ say it dulls the wits. I saw it in my own auntie and both of her sons."

Bella would never have been so blunt to her mistress were the message not urgent and heartfelt, but Elice could see no other way of guaranteeing that her brother wouldn't have another episode of somnambulism. She could keep his room under guard, lock the door from without and put bars in the windows for the sake of "security," but that would only give rise to rumors that Altea's prince was not in his right mind. If it never reoccured, and only Elice and the head cook did know the reason...

"What is this? It looks unpleasant," said Marth when Elice placed the cup beside his bed.

"It will keep you from walking in your sleep," she said, speaking nothing more or less than the truth.

"I didn't do it on purpose," he said, but it was a half-hearted argument.

When he handed her back the empty cup, Elice ruffled his hair and kissed him on the top of the head, as though he were again a little boy. She sat beside him until he slept, not with the eye-darting sleep of the restless dreamer but with the eerie still sleep of one under enchantment.

"I only want you to be happy, Marth."

Elice wasn't certain at all how either of them would achieve it. Not with so difficult a road ahead of them.

She brought the cup back down to the kitchens, where a patient Bella promptly scrubbed it and put it away. Instead of returning to her own room, Elice walked out the door to the kitchen gardens. She thought of going down to the shore, to sit a while and hear the tide at night, but it would be a foolish thing to wander down there by herself. Her footsteps instead took her to the chapel. In the dim light, the walls looked less grim, but the ruined windows seemed to let in only darkness and cold.

Elice paced a while around the perimeter of the chapel. She remembered the days when it had been a place of light- sunlight and candlelight both, the air perfumed with incense and flowers. Remembering those days brought her back, again and again, to the image of her brother as a small child, asking her if the gods were displeased with him, if the gods were even real at all. He always did come to her with the questions that were too strange and frightening to ask their tutors... much less their parents. And Elice always did her best to both tell him the truth and to settle his doubts.

And yet, she held from him the entire truth, because Elice knew it was Father's will... and Mother's. And she wasn't there to soften the blow when that truth unfurled before Marth on a day he'd been born for, yet never _prepared _for. On the day when Mother and Father and Elice herself were all gone, and Marth alone carried the hopes of their people.

Small wonder he thought he must carry _every_ burden of Altea's, no matter how small, how sad and mundane.

She knelt in the space where the altar had been.

"My lady mother, watch over your son, for he is yet a child," she whispered.

The wind sighed through unseen gaps in the roof, and Elice fancied for a moment she heard the sound of the waves.

**End Chapter Four**

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**

Obviously this take on Altea and Archanea is not "medieval" in tone; I find this justifiable in light of the anachronisms present in FE12 (in particular) and also admit that the setting of the _Ankoku Ryu_ manga inspired me somewhat. That version of Archanea felt rather like Louis XIV France, even a little Napoleonic.

I see this as stretching the bounds of reboot!Archanea, not violating them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Asylum**

I do not own _Fire Emblem_ or any of its characters.

I lied about pairings, I guess, as if you're super-sensitive to such you may detect a bit of "something" between Elice and Cain.

Wasn't exactly intentional, but I can't say I don't like the pairing, even if the basis for it is really only in fan art.

* * *

_Chapter Five_

"One muffin isn't enough."

Elice had just finished her berries and cream and was on the verge of reaching for the remaining muffin in the basket when she heard her brother's comment. She left it to him; Marth had grown several inches over the summer and, like many boys his age, he now looked too slender for his height. He'd changed considerably, in truth- the emerging adult bone structure in his face now brought out a truly striking resemblance to Queen Liza.

There was little of their father in Marth. Perhaps it was truly for the best.

-x-

"So His Highness has a real appetite again?"

Such was Bella's reaction when Elice brought her the request to send up more than two muffins with breakfast. The head cook hadn't been pleased at the number of half-finished plates that Marth had sent back over the previous months.

"Everything seems quite...well, Bella." She had nearly said "normal." "He sleeps the full night, wants a proper breakfast again..."

"And doesn't fidget incessantly. So much the better," Bella clucked as she sorted through her collection of spice bottles. "All the same, Princess, I'd not recommend use of the sleeping draught any more than it's necessary."

_I will decide what is necessary._ Elice didn't say it, but she looked the servant straight on, eye to eye, and the message passed silently between them.

-x-

It was the golden end of summer now; some of the smaller trees already showed glints of red and yellow in their leaves, and any day might bring the cold breath of autumn to temper the sun's warmth.

Elice expected the packet of mail from the capital, but the identity of the courier came as a pleasant surprise. The person who asked audience with her was no ordinary herald, but a tall young cavalier with flame-red hair.

"Princess, it is my great honor to tell you that Altea Castle awaits for you and Prince Marth to take residence there."

"It satisfies me greatly to hear that, Cain," she said. "But surely reconstruction cannot be finished."

"Work continues, Princess, but the whole building has been cleansed and your living quarters made ready."

"That is wonderful. I'll let you share the news personally with Prince Marth."

Cain's bright and earnest presence caused Elice to smile, but as she considered him, her thoughts shifted away from levity. Cain, like many of the surviving knights of Altea, was of her own generation- young, but highly competent, worthy of the tasks entrusted him. More than that, he was loyal beyond measure... the lone survivor of her father's final battle, that great slaughter at the banks of the Menidy River. The last man to have seen her father alive.

"Cain... you have seen how my brother is."

It was not intended as a question.

"Princess, the war..." He tilted his head, then said, "We suffered greatly. None could endure the kingdom's fall or the exile without feeling it to their bones. There were days when I myself felt I could never again laugh without bitterness. But I am sure this comes as no surprise to you... you, who suffered much for the sake of us all."

Elice had drawn a veil across the memories of her imprisonment. To be reminded of it, even if it placed her on the pedestal of her subjects' regard, caused a sour sort of feeling in the heart. And yet, she could almost be honest with this particular knight. Elice wanted then to tell him all, tell him too much. Tell him of her brother's simple _unhappiness_, which she could ease but incompletely. She could still his agitated hands, but not unroot the source of the agitation. She could take away the stiletto hidden in his room, yet could not reach the the invisible knife that cut at his heart and made it bleed with guilt and shame.

"Protect him, Cain. And not only from his enemies. Protect my brother from..." _From himself_? No, she couldn't say such a thing, no matter how trusted the listener. _From the world_? Not exactly.

Elice sat for a moment in tongue-tied silence. She could not put words to the nebulous ideas that floated through her head, any more than she could answer the great question, the one that Marth asked her so often with his eyes but never would speak- what their father had done in the sight of the gods that made him unworthy to lead Altea in its darkest hour. What their father had done that warranted a sword through the back, a resting place in the silt of a foreign river.

"Safeguard his ideals, Cain."

"With my life, Princess."

Cain's eyes went a little wide with surprise, but it seemed to Elice that he understood.

After so many years, she was still in a silent conspiracy with her parents to keep the full mechanism of the turning world from her brother's eyes.

-x-

"Cain! So good to see you."

Marth greeted Cain almost as though the knight were an honored blood relative. Elice kept an eye and ear on the conversation between the two youths; her brother was perfectly calm throughout, often smiling and flawlessly articulate, but it seemed to Elice that she was not imagining that something was _off_ in his manner. From Cain's reaction, the sharp glance he gave her midway through the conversation, she was _not_ imagining it.

"You've never seen Chalfont, have you, Cain? We really must give you a tour."

It was the price of a good night's sleep, Elice thought as her brother chattered on. It was necessary, whatever Bella's doubts.

"Let's go, Cain!"

The brightness to her brother's voice was overmuch for the trivial subject at hand. Cain looked again to Elice, and she read a great deal in the young knight's cocked eyebrow. She merely smiled in response, a serene hint of a smile, designed not to reveal anything.

It was not her mother's smile. Elice never could duplicate that, even when she tried in the mirror. When she did try, all she could see was her father looking back at her, sharing with her the smile of one who kept too many secrets.

-x-

Elice busied herself with preparations for their departure while the young men had their tour. For a moment she thought to ask Marth to ride ahead with Cain, to allow her a brief delay to close out their residence at Chalfont, but Elice reconsidered before the words crossed her lips. So simple a suggestion- "Go on without me"- would enter into territory that neither of them might happily cross. So she filled the remaining hours as efficiently as was possible, so that all was ready when Marth returned from showing Cain the grounds.

They needed only to bid farewell to those who served them- Augustus's boys, and Bella's girls, then Bella herself, and finally the steward of Chalfont.

"Did you find things to your liking here, Princess?"

"Very much so."

"Did you find all you came for?" And the creases deepened around the old man's green eyes.

Elice's hand went involuntarily to the pocket of her robe, where Bella's recipes were tucked securely away next to the confiscated stiletto.

"We will be back next season, Augustus," she said only.

"We await the day, Princess."

And he forced his aging body into a perfect bow, joining the row of lowered heads that lined their exit.

"Let's go," her brother urged her, even as she fought with the impulse to simply reach out and touch Augustus on the shoulder, as she might have touched a father. A grandfather.

"Yes. Let's," she echoed.

-x-

Still she looked back more than once over her shoulder, straining for a final glimpse of the golden spires of Chalfont until they blended imperceptibly into the trees.

**The End**

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Author's Note: Spot the homage to _The Secret Garden_ here.

And so we bridge the gap between FE11 and FE12. "Let's go," indeed. Feh. Elice's conversation with Cain is of course inspired by her dialogue with MyUnit in the FE12 Prologue. Said dialogue would have been less face-palmy had it been with Cain, or Merric, or Jagen... instead of with the self-insert n00b.


End file.
